


The heart of the ocean

by itsaroosterteeththing



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M, Mavin, RageHappy, achievement hunter - Freeform, roosterteeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 08:12:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsaroosterteeththing/pseuds/itsaroosterteeththing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael and Gavin, completely different classes and completely different stories. The pair meet and it seems that the RMS Titanic may be their favourite journey yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_‘The ship of dreams’_ that’s certainly what it looked like. Larger than life itself, four high rise chimneys standing tall and proud, six hundred and thirty four rooms freshly and adequately furnished. The ship was unsinkable, built to such a standard that even if four out of its five compartments filled with water, the ship could remain afloat quite happily. Truly spectacular ship, so the young traveler thought. The British lad, whom had never witnessed the inside of a welcoming families home since he was fifteen, enjoyed his travelling; working his way through many countries – usually by illegal means but, hey, who are we to judge one of the protagonists? - France had by far been his favourite, between the woman, the food and the cityscape…the whole country was just begging for admiration, and it received a lot of it. The stowaway had ‘won’ some tickets to board the ship 3rd class, but even that seemed like it was the highest he’d ever been up the food chain. He got by alright, but the Titanic…well…the Titanic was the ship of dreams. Where anything could happen and anything did. 

Gavin, Gavino to some, Gav to most, the man walks quickly and gives the man his ticket, waiting for the man to finish holding his chin high and holding his nose in the air as he looks down at him, he tells him where to go in a ‘get out of my sight’ tone and the almost brunette is on his way. Moving to his cabin in the lower decks and finding his roommates, whom looked rather confused at the sight of him. The pale skinned, blue eyed man was not who they were expecting, since the man had ‘won’ the tickets from a French man who had ordered with his friends whom happened to be high end gang members, all of which had gorgeous rich tones to their skin, large built and seemed to be made of pure muscle. Our protagonist is typically British and in no way decides to change himself for the men. He does not understand them but he has a bed to sleep in…and he guesses that was better than not having a room at all. The Titanic sets sail for New York in only an hour. A whole new world awaited the Brit and, man, was it exciting. The ship was so beautiful, he really had to explore.

At the same time a gentleman by the name of Michael was boarding the ship with his fiancée, Lindsay. A lovely woman who showed both strength and courage in her day to day life, she was beautiful and wondrous and everything someone could ask for…and yet…Michael didn’t feel it. He loved her dearly, and yet…couldn’t make himself fall truly, madly, deeply for her. It may have had something to do with her mother; the woman was sly and coy, conniving almost. The pair made their way up to their first class rooms, their bedrooms large with gorgeous settees and wondrous mirrors with the grandest patterns embellished on the frame. The beds are large and comfy and the ensuites where to die for. Michael would throw himself into the covers and sleep till they reached New York if he could, but no. He was a gentleman and a gentleman must always look his best.

The day drags and he’s constantly trying not to excessively curse, for fear of the death glare from Lindsay’s mother. The lunch is long and bittersweet and full of contempt and hatred. The woman hates Michael and she’s not at all afraid to express this side of her. Michael, in the end, gives up and leaves the table, excusing himself and somehow getting the perfect balance between a gentleman like and sarcastic tone. The man walks for a long time till he reaches the stern. He holds onto the railing and looks over at the icy cold water beneath him, watching as the water ripples and foams from the passing ship. The salt from the sea filling his nostrils, there’s a sharpness in the air as well, as if winter has hit all over again and you can physically smell how cold it was. The wind pulls at his curls and stings his eyes but the view is rather breath taking. Not even from just the sea, the sky held thousands of twinkling lights, some shone brighter than other and none shone as bright as the full moon in the sky.

“The only thing I hated about Paris” A thick Oxfordshire accent breaks the relative silence, the articulation dilute with a mixture of many different cultures and accents. Michael, a New Jersey boy born and bred, traveled to England for the sole purpose of keeping his fiancée and her family happy - to no avail, of course - he turned to the voice, his eyes quickly shifting over the obviously poorer man. He took in the light brown pants that, though obvious they had been vigorously washed before this trip, never seemed to be completely clean, his shirt that hung loose from his pants, a shirt that was once crisp white and now had faded into a forever off white shade of grey. His flat cap matched his trousers, but seemed that it had actually meant to be that colour. His black shoes were smudged and looked as if the shining they had gotten the day before had been the first since he’d gotten them. Michael, who had kept a hold of the railing and only turned his torso, now let go and faced him clearly.

“What can you possibly hate about Paris?” Michael asks, his reddish brown eyebrow rising, his hands being pushed into his finely pressed, coal black suit pants. He makes no move forward and assesses the danger. Though Michael knows better than to judge someone just by class, he’d had enough experience with the lower class people to know to always be on guard.

“There are no stars in Paris, it’s a gorgeous city but without the stars it kinda blimmen’ borin’.” He takes a step forward, a large smile spreading widely across his face, forcing Michael to take in his features. Though it looked like the man had cleaned up well, he had not shaved and held stubble across his jaw, his teeth were straight and pearly white, the stereotype of British teeth had not seemed to have agreed with this man. His nose seemed large but not large enough to put you off. He had eyes that were a mixture of blue and green, a dark azure ring around his iris, reminding Michael of the see at twilight, reflecting back its inky emeralds and it’s deep dark azures. His hair was somewhere between blonde and brown and was sprayed out messily, not conforming to any noticeable style, as if he’d woken up and left it like that. Perhaps the flat cap was hiding the monstrosity of a’do’ underneath it.

“Surely there was some” Michael doesn’t worry about the step, now sure that he could protect himself if anything was to happen with the man, he was so thin that he’d be easy. Not that Michael ever wanted to intentionally harm someone, not unless provoked, and not a man that had only said one sentence to him and yet peaked his interest far more so than many others.

“Obviously” The man rolls his eyes “but there wasn’t many, couldn’t see ‘em all with y’er eye anyway.” Michael thought it odd that the man was so into the stars, and to start a conversation with a stranger on the subject had befuddled him further.

“You know we’re headed for New York, right?” he cocks his head to the side, wondering if he had possibly thought this through at all. The light and smoke there would cloud the night sky on most nights.

“No, I know, but I never stay in one place for long, and there are some sights that are worth missing the stars for” The smile that falls over his face is light and soft, his eyes returning to the sky and searching for nothing in particular. Not long after, he sets his eyes on Michael again and takes another long stride, outstretching his hand. “I didn’t introduce myself.” Michael watches the hand for a long time trying to decide whether he wanted to or not, but the man seemed kind enough and the curly haired American seemed oddly…comfortable. He shook his hand and gave a soft smile.

“No I don’t believe you did.” That large, toothy grin appears on the Brit’s face again and Michael finds his own smile growing. The stargazer changes his childish, innocent grin into a sly, cocky one before saying.

“Free. Gavin Free.” There’s a laugh that leaves Michael unexpectedly and he nods, giving a final shake before letting go.

“Michael Jones.”

Gavin Free and Michael Jones aboard the RMS Titanic on the 10th of April, 1912. Their story begins here.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael and Gavin, completely different classes and completely different stories. The pair meet and it seems that the RMS Titanic may be their favourite journey yet.

A long night of mindless chatter on the stern had somehow ended in an invitation to dinner the next day. Gavin’s 3rd class ticket didn’t allow this but, of course, with Michael being the person who had invited Gavin, he would be permitted. The only complication with the plan was that Gavin had never owned a suit before, and he held no clothing suitable for the high class people he would be dining with. There was a woman of which Lindsay and her mother kept company with whom was much kinder, and though not liked among the richer of the passengers Michael had found that she was absolutely hilarious and was so much more open minded than some of the other people on the ship. When Michael approached her early the next morning, she was smiling away to herself, humming some unknown song that was only familiar to her ears. Michael asks her if it is at all possible for her to spare a suit for a friend of his. She assures him that she still has some of her sons and is travelling with them to return them upon her arrival in New York. Michael starts to state his worries when the woman cuts in with a simple ‘Get your friend’. Michael watches her for a moment before giving her a firm nod and dashes off to look for the blonde haired man.

In the daylight the ocean changed from it’s gorgeous emerald greens and deep azures to a turquoise that never stopped, foaming at the tips and chasing the ship. The Brit, who was an avid sketcher enjoyed these sights nearly as much as the stars, though of course his own art work was more focused on people, on how every movement meant something different, how ever minute change in expression could present itself in thousands of different ways. The raising of an eyebrow, the slight pulling of the lip downwards or upwards. Though, Gavin enjoyed many things about the body; how intricate it was, how very precise, and of course how very vague it could be. The human body was complicated but there was one part of the body that was easy, the only one that Gavin could think of as being the obvious answer to the otherwise confusing question. The eyes, he thought, were the part of the body that he enjoyed drawing the most, he enjoyed finding out how people saw things in different situations. He had seen many different variations of lust, of joy, of contentment, and he’s also seen the same variations within anger and jealousy, within woe and tragedy. It was while drawing a couple across the ship that he was interrupted by the curly haired man before him, his suit jacket gone and replaced with a lightish grey waistcoat that hugged his figure, his crisp white shirt tucked into his grey pants. The black bow tie he wore matched his black shoes and though the man looked very smart and of course, very high class, his rolled up sleeves made him look just a little less so, it made him appear a whole lot more approachable to Gavin, not that the artist much worried for speaking with strangers.

"Move" he says, though his lips pulled up into a smile and he took Gavin by the crook of the elbow pulling him off, the Brit followed behind quite happily, Michael leads him into the 1st class rooms hallway and they take a few turns before Michael pushes Gavin in to a large immaculately carved door, giving a delightful little laugh as the woman busies herself instantaneously. Gavin has to release his sketchbook as the woman rushes him into the bathroom holding some black suits, no doubt to see which suits him best. Behind the door many ‘Blimmen heck”s and ‘bloody hell”s could be heard. Michael rather enjoyed it, giving himself a soft chuckle every now and then before his eyes fell onto the old sketchbook. It was leather bound, stained and tattered, it was obviously well used, never out of reach for long. Michael picked it up from where Gavin had had to let it drop and looked through it’s pages, the earlier pages were rougher sketches, never bad but seemed to be missing something important, and Michael guessed that the man knew it himself because as the curly haired man flipped through page after page of man, child, woman the drawings seemed to come to life, the people seemed more realistic and as Michael flipped to the last few pages the red haired man caught sight of a drawing of him, standing at the railing at the back of the ship. He’d had to have sat for hours over this, catching the wanderlust in Michael’s eyes perfectly, the curve of his back as he leaned over, his forearms rested over the other against the banister and his left leg kicked out behind him, standing on his toes as he watched the ocean beneath the ship. It was breathtakingly beautiful. There was a click and the door opened, the Brit trudged out, pulling at the sleeves. Gavin had adorned simple black pants and a white shirt tucked neatly in, a tie that was mostly hidden behind his waistcoat. He cleaned up well, really well. If Michael would admit it to himself, the sight had made him take a sharp intake of breath and his mind completely cloud of all coherent thought, Gavin raised his blue eyes and frowned when meeting Michael’s face.

"What? It’s blimmen’ horrible, eh?" He whines, his face falling. The woman slaps the back of his head and then moves on to smooth it down, smiling to him. “I’m telling you, if I were twenty years younger-" and she proceeds to finish the sentence with licking her lips. Michael laughs and thanks the woman repeatedly and dashes out with the man, promising her that he would see her at the dinner in 20 minutes. The pair walk quietly with each other for a while before Michael passed him back his sketch book. The man doesn’t acknowledge it for the moment, mumbling about monkey suits and how he looks like an idiot. “Guess I can’t always where corduroy trousers." he finally grumbles, finished with his tantrum for now.

"You’re really very good." Michael tells him, nodding down at the leather book in his hands, Gavin looks down and he even seems to blush a little, which was odd for the Brit, he drew naked models with a poker face, he did not blush at compliments. “Like…really good." Michael continues, his eyes still on Gavin’s face. “I like the one of me, but…how long were you sitting there?" he asks, his brown eyes wandering curiously over the man before setting them northward again, headed to the dining room, knowing that Lindsay and her mother would berate him to the ends of his every fibre, worse so if he was late.

"Not long, it was just a quick one." He even looked apologetic, though of course something so beautiful should not be apologized for. “You looked peaceful, and troubled and like you wanted to fly away…it caught my eye" he explains, trying to justify it, even trying to sweeten the deal with throwing a small cocky grin Michael’s way. Michael rests a hand on his shoulder for a moment and squeezes.

"Shut up, I told you it was good" he smiles, leading him through the door and across the room. Lindsay’s mother scoffed and her eyebrows seemed to glue together as she buries them impossibly closer together, this act earns a small chuckle from the Brit, “Sorry about them" Michael murmurs under his breath as Gavin is whisked away to greet the woman who holds her nose higher. He dresses like them and can even act as one of them but sometimes you can tell, and Gavin was easily pulled out from the crowd. Michael sat down at the table and waited for Lindsay to sit across from him, her mother next to her and Gavin next to Michael. The woman they had met previously joins them not long after, a few other men and women join as well, each person more pompous than the last. The evening was strenuous and not without constantly insulting Gavin very subtly and sometimes not so subtly. Gavin took it in his stride though, he was very witty with the comebacks and was never disrespectful, which in turn made Michael angrier than he had been previously, he was being so polite and respectful and they throw it back in his face.

It had gotten to the end of the night and Michael knew he would have to bid his adieu to Gavin and go back with Lindsay, this fact made Michael feel almost sad, and guilty. Guilty because he has just met this man and yet he’s absolutely infatuated with him, and Gavin with Michael. The pair were intrigued by the other, impossibly so. He was everything Michael had missed and everything Gavin could never have. Michael shook Gavin’s hand, keeping their hands held as they said goodbye. Gavin told him that next time he should have dinner with his kind, Michael laughs and nods his curly hair bouncing in the motion.

Both boys leave the night yearning for the next, and wondering what on Earth was so god damn interesting about the other.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael and Gavin, completely different classes and completely different stories. The pair meet and it seems that the RMS Titanic may be their favourite journey yet.

The more that Gavin was able to wander over the decks, the more he fell in love with the ship. He would sit in his deck chair and sketch out the many people that wandered past and wondered what brought them to the ship, and he hoped it was because of the beauty of it, he hoped no one was running, or hiding and he hoped that no one was here because they were forced to move. Which is part of the reason Gavin enjoys not having a home; he doesn’t have one to lose. However, it was the 13th of April now and the Titanic was feeling more like a home than a ship, though his room was small and cramped, the beds were comfy and spending time on the upper decks made up for how cramped he could feel. Michael had helped a lot too, they had spent the previous night dancing with the lower class, Michael having borrowed Gavin’s flat cap and wore his own brown slacks and crisp white shirt. Dancing and singing loudly, to the top of their lungs. There was clapping and there was stomping, there was laughing and there was beer…and lots of it. The pair stumbled their way back to their own rooms and proceeded to fall onto the bed in their stupor and fall asleep. 

The morning brought headaches and nausea, an added headache for Michael whom had been forced to go through hours of bitching from both Lindsay and her mother. It was hell, and his justification for going out and getting drunk the night previous. The morning didn’t hold much for Gavin either, each minute away from the upper decks was exhausting, and he could tell why the rich were desperate to stay so high up in the food chain. He decides to make his escape and finds himself on the Stern of the ship again, looking around more subconsciously than consciously for the curly haired man. Searching over the ship and finding no sight of him, by the time he gives up his search it’s mid afternoon and the sun is hanging high above them. Gavin turns back and watches the children play, some of them are sort of cute, hanging onto their parents hands and swinging back and forth, others are screaming and hitting and within a minute of watching them, Gavin has to turn away. Children are one of those confusing species where some of them make you want to smother them with all your love and happiness, and others make you want to tear their heads off.

"Not a kid person?" Gavin here’s the familiar New Jersey accent from in front of him and rolls his eyes, looking up and watching the curly haired man raise an eyebrow and chortle to himself. Gavin stands up and stuffs his hands into his pockets. 

"Not really" he confirms, a smile playing at his lips. “You look like you’ve had a rough morning" Gavin gives a laugh, stepping forwards to stand just before Michael. The curly haired man rolls his eyes and makes a disgruntled sound deep in his throat. 

"Don’t even get me started" he says, deep brown eyes warning him, Gavin concedes for now and raises an eyebrow just as Michael had previously. 

"Plans?" he asks, his voice slightly more eager than he intended, and it shows in the smirk that Michael gives. 

"There’s a bar in the first class smoking room?" Michael offers, crossing his arms. Gavin’s smile widens and he nods.

"First class beer? Bloody brilliant!" Michael refuses to acknowledge the British slang except to smack the back of Gavin’s head and a muffled ‘fucking idiot’ under Michael’s breath. They both laugh and head for the first class smoking room, it was next to the lounge, and though people gave them funny looks as they past, no one stopped them. Gavin was with Michael and he was first class, this was enough for them.

The smoking room was crafted in gorgeous mahogany, the ceiling was a glorious marble, high up there held chandeliers that probably cost more than it had to make the 3rd class rooms. There were alcoves for people to play their games and to drink in private, just so that everything they were doing wasn’t on full show to the other gentlemen. There are men in suits drinking and there are men behind the bar serving out the drinks and there are men in alcoves smoking cigars, laughing way too loud and betting ridiculous amounts of money. Gavin’s eyes are still taking in the room when Michael drags him off to the corner and sits him down in front of a large wooden table, telling him to stay there while he gets them their pints, he’s away for a while and Gavin can feel the growing glares. He was not one of them, and the longer he sat by himself the more it became increasingly evident that he was not welcome. Though Michael wasn’t away long, it felt like much longer when you can slice the air with the thickness of the tension in it, it had set Gavin on edge before he even knew it. Though Gavin is used to being annoying and having being mock him, it’s usually in a friendly manner, hell…it wasn’t like Michael complimented Gavin all the time. Though it was definitely new for the Brit to be outright hated based purely on his class. 

Michael sits down and the glares seem to fade away into their games and their almost empty glasses. Gavin sighs and smiles when he’s passed his beer, he looks back over to Michael and the curly haired gentlemen holds paper and a pencil. Michael slides them over to the Brit, picking up his beer and drinking through the head before nodding to Gavin.

"Draw. Anyone, I want to watch you." It seems like an odd request, but it isn’t, not for an artist. People were always curious of how he did it, of how the basics where done, and how to build from it. Gavin starts light, looking over the table at a man who seemed to be very close with his friend, though they were in the alcove and mostly hidden to everyone in the room. Gavin chuckles but continues his light sketch. It’s simple curves and harsh straight lines. Once the basics are done Gavin goes back and fixes the roughness of it, proportions working themselves out. The last thing Gavin did was the eyes, the eyes were always left till last so that Gavin could take his time with it, could get everything right, and though the men were far away, the look in their eyes were as evident as if they were right out here in the open.

"Tenderness" Michael interrupts. “They’re looking at each other really tenderly." Gavin nods. “there’s something wrong about it, though" Michael says suddenly, turning the drawing towards him and searches the drawing which, though a quick sketch, was still quite well done.

"He’s faking it, the guy on the right, there’s a hardness in his gaze that the other probably doesn’t even see, he’s completely bloody in love with him, and the other…" Gavin looks back to Michael and shrugs, setting the pencil down and stretching out his fingers.

"but…they’re both men." Gavin rolls his eyes at this, sitting back in his chair. 

"Bloody idiot, you see far worse where I’m from, you’re bloody lucky if you can find someone who wants to spend time with you." Michael looks Gavin over for a second and sits back as well, looking at the drawing again.

"You’re right." he finally says, sitting up and finishing off his pint. “Tomorrow we’re going to the sauna" He nods to Gavin, giving a laugh.

Gavin had this terrible sinking feeling about the following day, but the sauna was tempting, and he did not refuse.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael and Gavin, completely different classes and completely different stories. The pair meet and it seems that the RMS Titanic may be their favourite journey yet.

Gavin and Michael sit in the steam rooms, a towel wrapped around their middles. Both men are lying back, their eyes closed. The heat and relaxation of the steam room is enough to put them in a deep state of ease. The pair sit in their silence for a long time, neither needing or wanting to say anything to disturb the moment. The room is surprisingly empty, with only two other men in the steam rooms, they’re quiet as well, but they’re first class men who could sniff out third class men when they had a cold. They’re staring at Gavin with cold, hard eyes, not knowing whether to teach the poor little rat a lesson, or leave him be with Michael. Michael senses it, knows that it’s happening because he’s done it so many times himself. He feels momentarily guilty, it passes when he hears Gavin give a deep, relaxed sigh. Michael’s own body loses all it’s tension.

It’s probably not all that long before the other men leave, but it feels like a lifetime for Michael and Gavin. They leave though, taking the thick sense of uneasiness with them. Gavin and Michael turn to each other and let out loud laughs.

"You lot are pretty blimmen’ intimidating." Gavin smiles over to Michael, to which the curly-haired man rolls his eyes and gives Gavin a half-hearted punch.

"Some of us, those guys yesterday sure weren’t" he sits back, stretching and allowing his bones to crack, he releases a sigh and he feels like everything has drained from him, like he could sleep now. Gavin lies back, his eyes closing as he hums. “I guess, must be pretty hard for ‘em, poor sods." Gavin opens his eyes and flicks his gaze over to Michael, who seems to be in deep contemplation. They stay quiet for a while longer, no one disturbs their peace and it’s just the way they both like it. Before long the conversation picks up again, starting with only light small talk, it’s not long before Gavin is telling Michael about his childhood, tells him about travelling and his art and all the people he was able to draw and meet. Michael tells Gavin of his own childhood, how he met Lindsay and how he’d thought it was amazing, how he imagined her to be the only one for him, and then things just…weren’t so good anymore, Gavin doesn’t say much through this, and keeps his mouth shut when Michael explains that he and Lindsay had given their relationship serious thought the night before.

"I’m pretty sure the is wedding off"

Both men listen and poke fun where they can and nod when they are supposed to. The day is spent in these room, the heat loosens them up and makes it easier for them to talk, especially now that it seemed no one else was here.

They do eventually get up, knowing that they have to get dressed at some point, they head out and make their way towards the individual dressing rooms the curly-haired man is whistling as he goes, pulling the curtain open to the dressing room. He feels pressure against his back and he’s pushed against the perpendicular wall. Before he knows what’s going on, the curtain is closed behind them and Gavin gives a cheeky grin before trapping Michael between his arms, there’s a moment of shock for Michael, and Gavin doesn’t proceed, waiting. It had been a spur of the moment thing for Gavin, a ‘Go for it, or never know’ situation. Michael stares for a moment and there’s so many emotions flicking across his eyes that Gavin finds it hard to keep up; there’s shock, anger, irritation and finally assurance and agreement. A simple look and Gavin knows. The Brit chuckles rather happily and pushes forward, his eyes never leaving Michael’s, always giving him the chance to back out. There’s no hesitation from Michael though as he mutters “Fucking idiot" and closes the distance, their lips crashing into each other’s, Gavin’s hands drop to lace with Michael’s and bring them up to trap him against the wall again, Michael pushes his head forward, biting down on Gavin’s lower lip. Michael’s shocked by the deep groan that leaves the blonde, though not at all displeased. Instead, Michael pushes them forward and traps Gavin between the wall and him, untangling his hand to cup Gavin’s face, to deepen it further, and without missing a beat, Gavin’s tongue pokes forward, bumping against Michael’s teeth. Before long they’re giggling like small children, figuring each other out, letting their hands wander. It’s not long and they’re both breathless, their pupil’s blown with want.

In a matter of moments, before either of them understand what’s happening, they’re thrown to the ground roughly, pressed against the side of the changing rooms. Their lust and emotion disappeared in a moment of fear, it was the screech of metal that scared them both the most, and the sudden screams that echoed from the decks above didn’t do anything to quench the sudden pits in their stomach.. Michael hurried, pushing Gavin out with the palm of his hands, he puts on his clothes in a mad rush and meets Gavin outside, he’d been wearing the suit that the lovely woman had given him before, for lunch. He’d left the waistcoat behind and kept the tie, it was crooked from his mad dash to get ready. Screams had died down but there was a definite eerie feeling clinging to the atmosphere. Michael took a moment to fix the blonde’s tie, giving him a tight smile before moving, ushering Gavin forward until they were out in the landing. They headed up the stairs until they reached the deck. There was more yelling up here and the atmosphere had thickened from eerie to downright frightening. The night was cold and clear but far from quiet. There were men and women screaming that the ship was sinking, that they’d hit an iceberg. Fear spikes in both men, their hearts racing and their mind trying to find some sort of rationality to hold onto. Instead, they looked at each other, their emotions grim and dark, but they both knew from the gaze alone that they promised to stay with each other.

"I have to find them, Gavin, I can’t leave Lindsay and her family alone." Gavin understood and they raced off, looking for Michael’s ex betrothed.


End file.
